


Pervasive

by bending_sickle



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 02:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3919309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bending_sickle/pseuds/bending_sickle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azog shows off his latest capture to Sauron, and claims it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pervasive

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by heartofstanding.

Azog drags Thranduil up the stairs by his hair. Sometimes the elf manages to get his feet under him, sometimes not, but Azog does not slow down. They are almost at the top when Thranduil slips and would have cracked his head open if not for Azog’s fist in his hair. The once-king is shaking, no doubt from the effort of the climb after being so long confined. 

Azog lets him collect himself, just this once, and looks back at the stairs they have just climbed. Some of the steps glisten in the moonlight - streaks of come where Thranduil fell. The elf, too, glistens wetly, seed slipping from between his buttocks, splattered over his back like a constellation. There is none on his face, Azog notices, when Thranduil finally looks up and begins to take stock of where they are. The little elf is meticulous like that, wiping away what he can. Azog will soon coat his smooth cheeks again. 

A few more steps - Thranduil stumbling only once more, when his swollen ankle gives way - and they are at the entrance to the ruined hallway. The darkness is there, waiting. Azog stares at the crumbling archway and the walkway beyond it and squares his shoulders. 

“Walk straight,” he hisses, shaking Thranduil. “Remember you are mine.” Azog keeps a tight hold on Thranduil’s hair, holding him up so he stands tall, if not proud. He does not know if the darkness is watching, but if it is, it will see the elvenking that Azog has brought. 

They walk the full length of the walkway, chasms to either side of them, until they reach the broken end of it. He waits, heart thumping steadily in his chest, until he feels the air around him cool. His skin prickles as the temperature drops and the air thickens, the sweet smell of earth and death filling the air. 

Then the darkness comes, coalescing like a cloud, or a swarm of swallows blotting out the sun. Except there is no sun here, no moonlight, and even so the darkness sucks the light into itself, smothers it. Even Thranduil’s silver hair is muted and drab. Azog blinks as the walls around him disappear. He dares not move, now. He will not see the edge of the walkway until he is falling from it. 

“I have brought the elf king,” he tells the darkness. The air around him turns to near-freezing, the metallic taste of snow in the air, but the darkness says nothing. It swirls around them, closing in slowly like a warg. 

The sharp smell of urine hits him. Azog bares his teeth at Thranduil, disgusted. “Afraid?” he scorns the elf, but when the darkness sweeps around his ankles and over his shoulders, he cringes, same as Thranduil. 

“I know you,” Thranduil whispers into the darkness. _To_ the darkness. 

The cold wraps itself around them and Azog is blind, utterly blind. He stands very still. 

“My name, Ilúvatar’s child.” The words come from all around them, echoing as if they were in a vast cave, though the tower is too ruined for that. The voice is void of inflection or emotion, but it brings a chill down Azog’s spine regardless. 

Thranduil is likewise not unmoved, and he trembles in Azog’s grip. When he speaks, however, his voice is clear and steady, and just as empty as the darkness. “Sauron.” 

The darkness coils around them once more, trailing ice across their skin, like a cat twining itself around legs. “You know and remember,” the voice says, and perhaps there is a touch of pride in the hollow echo this time. 

Abruptly the darkness is absolute and Thranduil cries out, jerking in Azog’s hand. The shuffle of bare feet on stone, another cry from the elf, and Azog’s hand turns to ice, cold like a knife’s blade tearing his fingers from Thranduil’s hair. Thranduil falls to the ground with a jarring sound - knees taking the full brunt of his weight - and then the darkness swirls like a pool about Azog’s waist and over Thranduil’s back. It forces the elf down, onto his hands, his elbows, then further down until his face is against the stone floor. Thranduill fights it - Azog can tell from the way the muscles in his back shift and strain, and from the tight mewling that escapes his lips. 

“Take him,” the darkness goads Azog. “Break him.” 

The darkness pulls back and now Azog can see Thranduil clearly, his nose ground into the dirt and his ass in the air, cheeks like two full moons. Seed glistens around his hole, drips down the elf’s balls as Thranduil’s ass clenches, understanding. Azog grins. It is not the first time he has had the elf - some of the seed on his skin and in his hair, and what clings to his chin, where Thranduil has failed to wipe it all off, is Azog’s. But to do it here, to take him here, for the darkness to see, is a victory Azog had not thought to hope for. 

Swiftly, Azog falls to his knees behind Thranduil, shoving his legs apart wider. He leans over Thranduil’s back, grinding his growing erection against the elf’s slippery juncture, and tangles his claw in the silver tresses, pinning Thranduil’s head down. He presses close, feels the sticky remnants of come against his chest and growls into Thranduil’s ear. “You have lost,” he says. “You have lost completely.” 

Azog shifts his weight, the metal of his claw screeching against the stone floor as he rises on it, and slips his hand back, between him and Thranduil. He sinks his thumb into Thranduil’s hole without preamble, finds it still wet and loose despite Thranduil’s attempts to close it, the ring of muscle stretched and weak. Thranduil tries to shift away from him, to duck his face away, and Azog laughs. The darkness is watching them, closing in on all sides, and Thranduil would hide from it. 

“Let it see how well I’ve taught you,” Azog murmurs into Thranduil’s ear, before curling his tongue around it wetly, taking the ear tip into his mouth and pressing his teeth to it. Thranduil whimpers and his hole clenches tight around Azog’s thumb. Azog pumps his thumb in and out, loving the way it slides so easily, and just when Thranduil arches back towards him, he pulls it out. Thranduil chokes back a whine. 

“You fight,” Azog says as he fishes his hard cock out from his loin cloth, “and you struggle, and you cry out for me to stop…” Azog presses his cock between Thranduil’s spread legs, crushing the elf’s sack before taking both their cocks in his hand. Thranduil quivers and he pants softly, the movement rocking Azog against his with each breath. “But I know you’re a whore for me.” Slow, almost lazy strokes up and down their cocks has Thranduil shaking his head and Azog growling with pleasure. 

Azog does not speed up his hand until Thranduil’s cock is hard in his hand. It does not take long, even with the elf fighting his body’s wants, nails sliding down the stone as Thranduil claws at it. That is when Azog makes his strokes faster, his grip tighter, and begins to rock against Thranduil’s ass. 

“You open for me,” Azog grunts. “Your cock weeps for me.” 

Thranduil finds his voice long enough to spit out, “No,” even as his back arches against Azog. Azog smiles at this useless lie and bites down hard on Thranduil’s shoulder, shaking his head roughy to tear at the skin. The blood is sweet, but Thranduil’s cry of pleasure is sweeter. 

“Spread for me,” Azog whispers, taking into his mouth that ear tip that so easily unmakes Thranduil. “Gape for me.” Thranduil obeys him readily, spreading his thighs and arching his ass up, and when Azog leans back, he sees the elf’s hole fluttering closed, then open, like a babe’s hungry mouth. Azog presses his hand to Thranduil’s ass, spreading him, and ruts forward, purposefully missing his mark. Thranduil mewls and his hips shift for him, searching for his cock like the hungry cunt that he is. 

“You know what to do,” Azog croons. “Take my cock, if you want it.” 

Thranduil twists under him, gasping desperately now, and slips his hand between his legs. Azog grins proudly at the darkness as he feels Thranduil’s slip fingers closed around his cock and guide him towards his hole. 

“Here, little whore?” Azog says, shifting forward a little then letting his cock fall from Thranduil’s hole, so the elf has to guide him in again. “Is this where you want me?” The elf’s fingers curl around his cock, then reach further back and tug him ever so gently by the balls. He makes a fine sight, this broken elvenking, contorting himself on the ground so that he may be fucked up the ass. “You want this?” Azog asks again, slipping the head of his cock into Thranduil’s waiting hole. 

The elf answers him with a forceful jerk back of his hips, impaling himself on Azog. His arm returns to the ground, fingernails once again set to the stone as Thranduil gives himself up to his body’s need. Azog grins to himself, to the darkness, and begins to thrust - sharp, punishing thrusts, his balls slapping against the back of Thranduil’s thighs. The body beneath him squirms and meets him at every thrust and Azog digs his nails into yielding flesh. 

He throws his head back as he picks up his pace, feels a tightness building in his balls, his stomach. He imagines what a sight he must be, at the end of the ruined walkway, endless falls to either side of them, and the milky-smooth elf utterly broken to his will, begging for his cock. 

Cold begins to gather around him and the air grows thick again. If he opened his eyes, Azog knows he would see the darkness swirling around him, as close and heavy as a cloak on his shoulders. He does not stop his hips, or slow them down. Did it not want to see the elf broken to Azog’s whim? _Let it see_ , he thinks, thrusting wantonly. 

Then suddenly his chest is ice, his belly, and Azog yelps as a biting cold envelops his cock, sinking into Thranduil’s ass with it. The heat of the elf’s hole is gone, replaced by a frightful cold, daggers and barbs on Azog’s cock. It is the darkness, fucking them both, gripping Azog’s cock like a steel hand. Thranduil feels it to, if his scared cries are anything to judge by. The elf struggles against the darkness again, as if he had not learned the first time. 

Azog knows better. He grits his teeth, feels his balls crawl up inside him, and keeps rutting, despite the cold, the punishing tightness, and the suffocating heaviness of the air around him. He can’t breathe, can’t see - he closes his eyes and his stomach turns, so he opens them again to the swirling darkness - and can’t hear anything other than the howling echo of what cannot be the wind through the ruined tower. Even the elf’s cries are muffled by it, as are his grunts. 

Finally he comes, burning heat dissolving the ice that has taken over his cock, and Thranduil bucks beneath him, coming with a cry a moment later. It must feel like a fire has set in his guts. The cold eases back, the darkness with it, tendrils caressing Azog’s shoulder and neck as it goes, and Azog swear he hears it laugh. 

Thranduil may be Azog’s whore, but Azog is the darkness’s bitch.


End file.
